


The Bike

by Pink_Dalek



Series: RA Blues [3]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: Part 3 of RA Blues. The prompt was one character peed on the other one’s car. This is Oxford, so I changed it to a bike.





	The Bike

It was a blustery March evening. Joan Thursday and Shirley Trewlove were sprawled across their beds, studying madly for end-of-term exams. The dorm was quiet, everyone either studying in their rooms, the quiet room next to the dining hall downstairs, or at a library. There was a knock at the door. “It’s open,” Shirley called.

Gillian Stoddart slipped in, closing the door, her long blonde hair in a messy braid and her glasses slightly crooked. “Shirley, calculus is killing me!”

Shirley patted the space next to her. “Sit down and show me where you’re stuck.”

There was another knock awhile later. This time it was George Fancy, looking harried. “I’m going to murder Ronnie!”

“Take a number,” Shirley said, just as Joan answered, “Please do!”

“What’s he done now?” Gillian asked.

“His shit’s migrated onto my side of the room— again— he hasn’t done his washing in weeks so our room reeks of socks, and I just found out he’s got dirty dishes under his bed. Now I know why I had ants in my biscuits last week— he’s attracting them!”

“Talk to Morse,” Shirley suggested.

“I would, but he’s never around anymore. I don’t know if it’s to do with his classes or that girl he’s seeing, but I haven’t seen him in days. I’d talk to Peter Jakes about Ronnie, but I’d hate to get Morse in trouble for not being around.”

Joan hauled herself from her bed. “I need a study break anyway. I really should go to the library, but I’m dreading going out in that,” she nodded toward the wind-lashed window. “Come on, George.”

She stomped down the hall, George trailing behind. The whole floor had learned during finals week of Michaelmas term that Joan could be terrifying, her usually laid-back demeanor replaced by all three Furies in one body. She had an Angry Mum Voice that made the whole floor shut up. She’d even intimidated Morse. Peter Jakes had suggested she apply for an RA job next year when he’d heard about it.

Her rap on George and Ronnie’s door was a cop’s knock, picked up from her father, before she opened the door. “Ronald Eugene Gidderton, clean up your crap! It stinks in here, and now there’s ants. If they get into the rest of our rooms, I’ll make sure Peter knows to charge your account for getting rid of them! And we’re not supposed to have dining-hall plates in our rooms anyway. Gather them up and take them downstairs— they’re still cleaning up after dinner.”

“But— “

“NOW, RONALD!”

“Okay! Blimey! I didn’t know bloody Molly Weasley lived on our floor,” Ronnie grumbled as he gathered up the crusty plates under his bed.

“And do your disgusting laundry. No wonder no girl will go out with you. You’re a bloody pig.” After Gidderton left, Joan looked up at a shell-shocked George and shrugged.

“You— you’re scary sometimes, you know.”

Joan smiled sweetly. “I have no idea what makes you think that.” George shook his head as she sailed back to her room. In her wake a few other people scrambled out with smuggled dishes, although most of theirs were clean.

She closed her door and flopped onto her bed with an impish grin. “Nothing better for PMS than shouting at some numpty.” Shirley and Gillian laughed. “I really should go to the library.” Joan started stuffing everything she’d need into her backpack and put on her shoes, then wriggled into her coat. “Wish me luck. If I’m not back by midnight, send out the search parties and tell my mum I loved her.”

She trotted down the three flights of stairs. One good thing about living on the third floor was it was great for fitness. Buns of Steel indeed, and her legs had never looked better. She was actually looking forward to shorts weather this year.

She pushed open the door and headed for the bike rack. Her battered blue bike was on one end. There was another person at the bike rack, a guy. She tilted her head and squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “You— You’re— You’re PEEING ON MY BIKE! YOU FIDDLE-HEADED TWAT! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?” It didn’t even occur to her to be frightened.

She’d startled the hell out of him, she noticed with some satisfaction. He staggered, trying desperately to finish/turn away/get himself back in his trousers. Who the hell was partying the week before finals, she wondered. Must be nice.

“Sorry— sorry— god, I’m so sorry— “

She recognized the voice. “Morse?”

“Joan?” He turned, and in the light from beside the door she could see their missing RA. “Oh, bloody hell. Er, how’s your crabs? Crab? The— Donal, wasn’t it?”

“Doodle. You’re drunk! Oh my god, you’re completely hammered, aren’t you?”

“Prob’ly.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Why we haven’t been able to find you? You’ve been drinking?”

“Please, no— not Angry Mum Voice— you sound like she’s come out of her grave to shout at me. Surprised she hasn’t, actually. Another strike against the existence of an afterlife— “ Morse kept rambling, unable to stop himself.

“You are an absolute wreck. Well, come along. Let’s get you upstairs.” Joan grabbed his shoulder and steered him toward the door.

“I’m going to fail out. Haven’t been to class in days. Specially not Lorimer’s— Athenian Bloody History, with Henry Bloody Fallon sitting there smirking at me. She went back to him— Susan— dumped me and went back to him. Said he’s more compatible. More money’s what she meant. He’s rich, he’s been accepted to law school, he’s not the son of a cabbie with a gambling problem, here on scholarship wearing clothes from the Amnox shop.”

“You’ve been gambling, too? Come on, next flight of stairs.”

“What? Nah— what with? Got an apple in my bookbag, I think. My da gambles. That’s why we’re always skint. Why do we live on the third floor? It’s so far away— I’ll just stay here.” Morse tried to lie down on the landing.

“No you will not. Do you want Peter to find you passed out in the stairwell?” Joan got him started up the second flight of stairs.

“He doesn’t like me. Thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Honestly, right now I think you’re an idiot, Morse.”

“D’you think I should’ve applied to law school?”

“I can’t see you arguing in a courtroom. You’d have to work with contracts or something. It’d be right dull.”

Morse dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Greats is dull, actually. Dead languages, dead writers, dead civilizations. Dead dead dead. Everything’s dead. We’ll be dead, too, before you know it. Dead and buried, just like Thucydides.”

“I cannot believe you can say Thucydides whilst drunk off your head.”

Morse giggled. He never giggled. Joan got Morse up to his room, while he mumbled that her hair smelled nice, that she was nice, that he was going to have to go back to Stamford in disgrace. “And drive a cab. Make small talk with passengers. I’m terrible at small talk.”

“Let’s get you sobered up and see how things look tomorrow before you make any life-altering decisions, okay? Where’s your room key?”

“Pocket. I’ll get it.” Morse rummaged in his jeans, finally finding his key. Joan had to put it in the keyhole for him. She led him to the bed, helped him out of his jacket, and took off his shoes, then drew the blanket and faded comforter over him. He was snoring within moments, and Joan turned to leave.

She thought to fetch the battered bucket from the cleaner’s cupboard and put it beside his bed, then placed a glass of water and two aspirin on his desk, next to the bed. On the way out, she stopped in the basement laundry room for the bucket kept there, filled it in the utility sink, and hauled it out to splash water over her bike before deciding to walk to the library instead.

 

*****

 

Morse opened his eyes the next morning with a groan. He felt terrible. There was a glass of water and two aspirin next to his alarm clock. He swallowed the tablets and drank the water, then clambered out of bed to refill the glass at the floor water fountain. He tripped over a bucket beside the bed.

The floor was deserted. He’d slept through his first class. After guzzling two more glasses of water he gathered his towel and bathroom caddy and traipsed off to to the bathroom. His memories of the night before started returning in the shower and he groaned, wishing he could just drown himself under the spray.

Joan returned from her morning classes to see Morse with a bucket of soapy water and some rags, washing her bike. “Morse?”

“It’s the least I can do, after last night. I’m really terribly sorry.”

“Have you gone to any of your classes?”

“I’ll go to my afternoon ones.” Morse finished wiping down the bike, then opened a small toolkit he’d brought and started tinkering. “Your rear brakes need adjusting, and I’ll grease the chain. Have you been having trouble shifting gears?”

“A little, but it’s an old bike. I had no idea you were handy.”

“I’ve learned to repair bikes out of necessity. I can also rewire a lamp, rotate car tires, and change out oil, things like that.”

“Well, thank you— you really didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did. I behaved abominably last night. And since Jakes hasn’t shouted at me, I’m guessing you didn’t tell him.”

“I’m not going to grass on a bloke who’s hit a rough patch.”

Morse tested the brakes and seemed satisfied, then turned to oiling the chain.

“Are you going to lunch?”

Morse winced. “Suppose I should. The soup should be safe. Er— thanks for looking after me, too.”

Joan shrugged. “I’ll see you in the dining hall then.”


End file.
